


Pray for Rain

by imadra_blue



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Canon - Anime, Chromatic Yuletide, Drama, Humor, Inspired by Music, M/M, One Shot, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Canon, Romance, Slash, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 22:47:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One year after their journey to Nagasaki, Mugen catches up to Jin.  Their renewed relationship is complicated by the fact that they're both idiots.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pray for Rain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hellosweetie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellosweetie/gifts).



> Music offers inspiration to _Samurai Champloo_ , and it likewise does for this fic. The title refers to the song "Pray for Rain" by Massive Attack, and the section headers are all lines from the song lyrics. If so inclined, listen to "Pray for Rain" by Massive Attack while reading (easily found on Youtube).
> 
> Happy Holidays, hellosweetie!
> 
> And many thanks to Babel for her invaluable beta reading!

...

**1\. A system failure left behind**

Another day alone, another brothel. Jin walked past more brothels than he did inns. Perhaps it was a sign of the times, but Jin thought it more a sign that he wanted to get laid. Naturally, this meant he couldn't afford to. If fate was a person, it would be Mugen: difficult, contrary, and eager to pick fights with Jin.

Inside the wooden, well-fenced building, Jin could hear the sort of giggling common amongst prostitutes trying to feign interest in their customers. He sat down outside the building and leaned against the wall, legs spread out carelessly. He understood that this made him seem desperate, but he was unable to muster a damn at the moment. Since he would sleep alone, he might as well enjoy the sound of those who would not have to. After a moment, there was a bit of shouting, and then the back gate opened. A man in red was forcibly tossed onto the street by the guards, and the gate slammed shut behind him. Jin tipped his straw hat down to hide his face, but too late.

"You look like an overworked whore, sprawled out like that in front of a brothel."

The voice was familiar, and Jin tipped his hat up to find Mugen limping over to him with a smirk more befitting a cat than a man. He certainly resembled a mangy alley cat with his untamed hair and pointed nose. Despite having exited a brothel, he reeked of sake and sour-sweet sweat, not of sex. For a moment, it felt as if no time had passed since they last saw each other, though it had been a year since Nagasaki.

"This is the back of a brothel," Jin explained, not permitting his face to change expression. It would only encourage Mugen, and while Mugen needed many things, encouragement did not number amongst them.

"Why are you in the back, then? Got fired?"

Jin sighed. This conversation could only end in violence. To be fair, most of his conversations with Mugen had ended in violence. Things were different now, though. Jin no longer wanted to commit violence upon Mugen. Well, not much. "I thought you had gone another direction."

Mugen yawned. "I did. Then I decided I liked yours better."

Unsure whether to be flattered or irritated, Jin quirked an eyebrow. "You're following me?"

"No. I just liked your direction better. The food smells better here."

Jin did not know what to say, so he said nothing. He studied Mugen intently, noting he wore the same clothing that he had worn last year when they traveled to Nagasaki together, though his red coat seemed a little more worn than it had been. However, one spot of the coat looked remarkably red, as if it had been re-dyed. Jin found it odd that Mugen would only re-dye one part of his coat until he noticed blood trickling down Mugen's leg.

"God, you're such a little shit." Mugen thrust his pinky into his nose and dug around, apparently unconcerned by his open wound. "Wanna fight?"

"What for? It's already been settled," Jin said. They had shattered their swords against the other, settling their conflict in the clearest fashion possible. Considering its meaning any further would only invite madness. Jin had never considered Mugen and not invited madness, come to think of it. "Besides, it looks like you were already in a fight."

Mugen sneered. "So? We could do it for fun."

Jin frowned at the blood now pooling around Mugen's feet. "Not much fun now. You're bleeding."

"What, are you my mother?" Mugen tilted his head, and a rather frightening smile crept across his face. It took Jin a moment to recall that was the smile Mugen used when he was trying to sweet talk someone. "Hey, I came up short in there. Can you spot me?"

"I'm sitting outside the brothel. Not inside. What do you think?"

"You could have just said 'no.'"

"Mmm." Jin could already feel his left eye twitching, and they had been speaking for less than five minutes. He would have much preferred to see Fuu again. Unfortunately, beggars could not be choosers, and he had to admit that he was at least a little bit pleased to see Mugen again. But only a little bit.

Mugen spun around, his back to Jin. He wobbled a bit. "Go to hell." He took three steps and collapsed face first into the dirt.

Jin watched Mugen bleed in the dirt. He did consider him a friend, though could not entirely explain why that label made sense. It was nice to not be alone again, at least. The last year had been rather soul-crushing, as if the loneliness had grown worse after experiencing real friendship. But, friend or not, Mugen was also selfish, egotistical, filthy, rude, obnoxious, wild, loud—

Mugen moaned softly.

With a sigh, Jin heaved himself up, and lifted Mugen up and over his shoulder.

Carrying Mugen down the street proved quite the trial. Not only was Mugen heavy, but people would not stop staring. It was as if they'd never seen a ronin carry the bleeding body of an ex-convict down the street before. Mugen gave a few more moans—at least two sounded obscene—but gave little other sign of life. He remained quiet while Jin haggled with an innkeeper for a room, dinner, and two bottles of sake. It would require three days of hard work, but in that time, Jin would have a roof over his head and food to eat.

Mugen remained unconscious for the next few days, starting awake only once when Jin cleaned his wound out with one of the bottles of sake (to complain about the waste). He started to come to after Jin had finished his work at the inn. Jin silently packed his bags, ignoring Mugen's grumbling and complaints as he awoke. Mugen staggered upright just as Jin walked out. After walking for a minute down the path, Jin glanced back once and saw Mugen peeking from behind the door at him.

It hurt as much to leave the second time as the first, but Jin knew it had to be done. The quickest way for him to lose a friend was to stay long enough to make him an enemy again.

…

**2\. And their necks crane**

Jin knew within two hours of arriving in Kanazawa's port that he had made a tactical error. He had always placed more importance on his style than his appearance, but the men here seemed to only care about his appearance. Jin had ignored their stares. Even if they had tried anything, he knew he could handle himself. His error had not been in coming to Kanazawa, but rather in stopping at one of the teahouses for dinner. He had underestimated the old man who had served his tea and leered at him. He turned out to be a greater threat than any man with a sword, for Jin had no defense against poison.

After passing out with the grace of an intoxicated goat, Jin woke up tied to some sort of post. Cold hands stroked his face. He tried to struggle, but his limbs felt like wet sacks of rice and would not move. He could not even see more than vague shadows wavering before him.

"Isn't he pretty?" cooed a wavering male voice. "A little older than usual, but look at his delicate features!"

A deeper, yet feminine voice rumbled in reply. "Pretty, yes, but will anyone buy him? He's tall. Skinny, but strong." A hand squeezed Jin's right bicep painfully, fingernails digging in. "He might be difficult to control. He had a sword, after all."

The man scoffed. "He's a ronin. I doubt he has any skill."

Jin longed to rip free of his restraints and show this pair what skill he did have, but all he managed to do was twitch his fingers.

"Pah." The woman released his arm. "We will sell him tomorrow before he causes trouble. Keep him drugged."

Jin passed out again after that exchange and woke up tied to what seemed to be a bench. His head felt as if it were floating away on a stormy sea, bobbing up and down violently. He was fairly certain he vomited all over himself, but when he awoke next, he was clean and wearing an uncomfortably comfortable yukata that slipped off one shoulder. He still could not see more than shadows, and he had been tied to a new post, one outside, given the cool breeze brushing past his bared skin. Despite his best efforts, he still couldn't manage the strength to even straighten himself out. The sound of an auction rang in his ears, and, after a moment, he realized he was the merchandise.

Over the cries of men bidding insane amounts of money for him (clearly, Jin had been in the wrong business the whole time), a familiar voice drowned them out. "I'll pay twelve heads for him!"

Mugen.

"Twelve heads?" asked the deep feminine voice that Jin had heard before. "What sort of currency is that?"

Metal _shing_ ed, and Jin knew Mugen must have drawn his blade. "It's not a currency. I just happen to owe him, and it's going to cost twelve heads, because I count twelve of you!"

"Twelve?" came the wavering voice of the man who had called Jin pretty. "His math's all wrong! There's at least twenty of us!"

After that, Jin could not hear any distinct voices. The shadows became rather frenzied, and there was a lot of screaming, clanging, and thudding. It was just like old times, Jin reflected, as he felt his binding cut free.

"That's a nice look for you, actually," Mugen said, and pulled Jin's yukata back over his shoulder.

Jin tried to answer, but drooled all over himself. He would have been embarrassed, but he didn't have time before Mugen lifted him up, dropped him over his shoulder like a sack of rice, and ran.

Definitely just like old times.

…

**3\. As they turn to pray for rain**

It took Jin a day before he could see, and another before he could stand. The poison ran roughshod all over its course, leaving him a sweating, shaking mess by the time he pissed the last of it out. Once he could stand, he washed himself from the bowl of water left in the room. Mugen had somehow found his clothes and his sword, and left them beside the water. Jin dressed while glancing out the front of the room. The door had been partially left open, revealing a soiled, trash-littered alley way. Jin saw no one, not even Mugen.

Grateful for small favors, Jin slid the door all the way open and stepped out, only to find Mugen sitting outside, hidden behind the wooden wall, hands draped over his crooked knees.

"You're leaving again."

It wasn't a question, but a statement. Mugen didn't look at Jin, instead glaring at some point on the filthy stone wall across from them. He cut an oddly miserable figure there, crouched in front of some low-rent house, unable to look another man in the eye. Jin looked away.

Mugen sighed, as if waiting, but Jin had nothing to say that Mugen would understand. So Jin started to walk away.

"You know Fuu's getting married, right?" Mugen called after him. "Found some proper samurai husband. Kind of an idiot. All arms and legs. Seems to like her, though."

Jin paused for a moment. He had not known, but he had not walked in her direction, and she had not taken his. It was easy to understand why now. He always knew she was the one who was least likely to die alone. He inhaled and continued to walk away. Fuu's engagement affirmed his belief that his friends could only be happy without him in their lives. He did not pause to consider how unhappy Mugen seemed as he left.

…

**4\. Drops on rocks fall fast and fleeting**

Jin could not articulate what drew him to this particular gamblers' den at first, but the moment the drumming started, he knew exactly why.

Men, and a few wild-looking women, fought bare-handed to the fierce rhythm beat out by the drummers. Sake flowed like rivers, and no one looked askance at anyone who passed through the beaded curtain. Dice rolled, money exchanged hands, kimonos slipped, and music better suited to evisceration than dancing thumped well into the night. Jin sat in the corner and soaked it all up. He imagined this would be what it was like to live in Mugen's fevered mind.

Cups passed around, and Jin had his fill, which meant exactly two-thirds of a single cup. He always underestimated his lack of alcohol tolerance. As the gamblers' den swayed and warbled, Jin cursed his selective amnesia when it came to alcohol. He struggled to walk, but the floor kept growing closer to his face. He hadn't even realized he'd almost fallen flat until strong, thin arms scooped him up. Jin protested when he was tossed over a shoulder, but ceased when he recognized the red coat. Mugen again. He shouldn't have been surprised, but he was. Mugen should've given up by now. But Mugen never did what he was supposed to do.

Mugen carried Jin right out of the gambling den without even pausing once. The intense drumming echoed in Jin's head as he walked down the lantern-lit street to some shady-looking inn. It seemed oddly familiar, but then, all shady inns looked the same after their trip to Nagasaki. Mugen dumped Jin onto the tatami without ceremony and sat beside him. The outside lantern light streamed in, through the crack of the carelessly un-shut door, diffused by the rice paper door panels. The room was bathed in orange and black shadows. Jin's entire body swayed of its own accord to the beat in his head as he struggled to sit up.

"Stupid piece of shit," Mugen said, leaning in close. "Still can't handle your liquor."

Jin gave up trying to sit up and tried to accept his half-upright position. It wasn't entirely uncomfortable. What was more uncomfortable was how close Mugen sat to him. Too much sake had soaked into his brain, and Mugen's hand on his thigh left him over-warm.

"Why're you here?" Jin slurred.

"It's my room. I had to guard some stuck-up merchant for two weeks to afford it. Shouldn't you be asking why you're here?" Mugen murmured oddly, the way a man would murmur to a woman in a brothel, and drew Jin closer. Warmth built into heat, and Mugen tugged at Jin's obi. Starting, Jin moved to slap Mugen's hands but forgot halfway through when Mugen's lips pressed against his. Mugen's mouth was moist and rough, his fingers hard and needy. Mugen's sweat strangely no longer smelled repulsive, and firework thrills shot through Jin's body, leaving him shivering with unreleased want. Mugen thrust his thick tongue into Jin's mouth and lifted Jin's hips, bringing their bodies closer, skin separated only by too-thin cloth. The maddening friction allowed Jin's lucidity to burst through a fortified wall of intoxication. With one great thrust of his arm, he shoved Mugen away, watching as Mugen's spindly body thumped back on the tatami mat.

Mugen shot back up, screeching like an offended chicken. "What the fucking hell was that for?"

"That's my question!" Jin spat and wiped his mouth. He could still taste Mugen in his mouth. He'd apparently had sake and dango for dinner.

"Well, you're a homo, right? I thought you'd like it." Mugen sounded petulant now.

"You're the one who kissed me! What does that make you?"

Mugen stilled and even in the weak light, Jin could see him narrow his eyes. "How else am I supposed to get you to stay?"

Those words hurt more than when Jin had thrust his own blade through his body to save Fuu. Jin blinked rapidly, realizing he was blinking away tears. It had never occurred to him that Mugen would actually want him around, that Mugen would be unhappy without him. The only time he had ever felt part of a family was when traveling with Fuu and Mugen, and even that had proved fleeting. Fuu was starting her own family, and Jin had thought Mugen would move on. But now he understood Mugen had nothing, the exact same nothing Jin possessed. Mugen disliked the situation as much as Jin, but unlike Jin, he apparently wanted to do something about it.

The silence snapped between them, and Mugen stood and left.

…

**5\. Hearts and wings commence to beating**

By dawn, Jin had slept the sake off. He stumbled outside, his head throbbing. He was not surprised to find Mugen sitting on the stoop. Mugen did not turn when Jin exited. He nursed a bottle of sake, clinging to it with the sullen possessiveness of a dog with a half-consumed meal. Only Mugen would start drinking just after dawn. Though there was the possibility he had never, in fact, stopped since the night before.

Jin gingerly sat down next to Mugen in an attempt to not acerbate his headache. His efforts proved fruitless, and he winced as what felt like fifty overfed Fuus danced across his skull, clumsy feet beating misery with every step. A moan escaped his lips, and he leaned forward to hold his head.

"On your way out?" Mugen asked, tone as cold as winter in Hokkaido.

Jin peeked at Mugen between his fingers. His sharp face now resembled one of an underfed dog, determined to bite anyone foolish enough to stretch their hand out to him. The wild mop of hair and untamed scruff on his jaw made him seem all the more animalistic. It amazed Jin how chimeric Mugen's face was, for in the time Jin had known him, Mugen had cycled through the countenance of an entire menagerie's worth of animals.

Sunlight suddenly peeked over the building, sending pain rocketing through Jin's skull again, but it gave him a certain sort of clarity. When one ignored the animalistic edges, there was also something child-like to Mugen's features—the sort of child who had too little people to care for him and too many people willing to hurt him.

"So what if I was leaving again?" Jin asked, honestly curious.

Mugen shrugged. "Like I give a shit anymore. I'm not drunk, like I was last night. I got a new direction to follow."

"And what if I decided to follow that direction, too?"

Mugen glanced to the side, his look fierce and dark. "Don't screw around with me."

Jin glanced down at his hands, squinting. His head had developed a full percussion rhythm, but he never had seen clearer in his life. "I've ruined the lives of everyone who was ever close to me. But your life is already in ruins, so what harm would it be if I stay?"

"My life isn't in ruins!"

It was Jin's turn to give Mugen the side-eye.

"Go to hell."

Jin shook his head, then instantly regretted it. "I need to go lay down." He stood, barely, and staggered back inside the room.

After a moment, Mugen joined him.

…

**6\. Usher us into the dreaming**

Mugen had left the door open again. The door faced an alley, so Jin didn't really care. No one really came through this area—it was too remote for all but the travelers most desperate for lodging. Moonlight shone in, casting the room in silver, blue, and black. The night had grown cold, but Mugen curled up, asleep, at Jin's back, keeping Jin warm.

Jin stretched out a hand, flexing it in the weak light, watching shadows play off his skin. A small scar reflected the light from the back his hand, just across the web of flesh between thumb and forefinger. Jin had never noticed the scar before, but then, he rarely examined his hands. He wondered where he had gotten it. After a moment, he decided he had received the scar when he and Mugen's blades had shattered against the other. The mark must have been from a shard of Mugen's sword. Jin had possessed numerous wounds after that battle, so it was perfectly plausible. The truth of it really didn't matter.

With a snort and sudden heave, Mugen snatched Jin's wrist and pulled him back against his chest. "What're you doin'?" he asked sleepily.

Jin dipped his face into the crook of Mugen's neck, allowing Mugen to cling to his wrist. He had grown to like Mugen's smell, a sour-sweet scent that now reminded Jin of victory. "I was thinking."

"You should stop doing that. It's bad for your health." Mugen yawned and opened his eyes.

"We should go see Fuu."

Mugen turned his face more to peer at Jin. "She's married by now. Maybe even popping out babies."

"So?"

Mugen sneered. "She would probably bitch at us."

"Yeah."

"And boss us around."

"Yeah."

"And she'll find out we're fucking."

"Yeah."

"Fine."

Mugen rolled over to pin Jin's wrist to the floor and bent over him. His eyes gleamed in the weak light. Jin reached up and stroked Mugen's face with his free hand. Mugen closed his eyes and smirked, reminding Jin of a satisfied cat. As he touched Mugen, the moonlight caught the small scar on Jin's hand again. Jin lifted up to kiss Mugen gently on his chin, the scruff tickling his lips.

"Bastard," Mugen murmured, and pulled the blankets over them both.

_Owari._


End file.
